Tonight is about Sage.
“This is it,” I say, as I pull into the grass in front of our trailer.
“It’s nice,” she says, her tone polite.
I snort. “Compared to what you’re used to—”
“Don’t,” she whispers, turning her head to look up at me. “Don’t make me like them, because I’m not.”
I feel shitty for lumping her into the same category as all the other Ashton Hills, uptight, rich assholes. “Sorry.”
“You’re forgiven,” she teases.
We climb out of the truck and I take her inside. Luckily, Dad didn’t leave any bottles of liquor sitting on the table. The house is clean and quiet. I show her around but as we’re headed toward my room, she stops to look at pictures of my mom.
“She’s pretty,” she says softly.
“She was. Until she got pregnant with me and I ruined everything.” I try to laugh but it comes out cold and not funny at all.
Her hand clasps around mine. “You didn’t ruin anything. You were a baby.”
“Try telling that to a sixteen-year-old girl. I shackled her to a future she didn’t want. Her key to freedom was meth,” I say bitterly. “In the end, it freed her all right.”
“Oh, Mars,” she murmurs. “I’m so sorry.”
Shrugging her comment off, I walk down the hall to my room. I try not to wince at the hole in the door. It’s embarrassing, but she knows what a dick my dad is. I’ve told her on many occasions. I set her bag on the floor and turn to look at her. Her eyes are wide as she stands in my doorway.
“Wow,” she breathes.
I follow her stare to my walls. Completely decorated in my chaos. She walks over to the far wall and runs her fingers over a picture I drew of hubcap in a ditch. Then, her fingers dance along the strands of the kite. She bends to look at a picture of Collette and me in high school dressed as hobos and laughs.
“That your dad?” she asks, pointing to a picture of my parents when my mom was pregnant.
“Yeah.”
“They look happy there.”
Until she gave birth to me.
As she continues to look at my stuff, I close the bedroom door and kick off my shoes. I walk over to her and wrap my arms around her.
“You smell good,” I tell her, kissing the top of her head.
She turns to face me, encircling her arms around my middle. “You smell like coffee and French fries, two of my favorite things.”
I dip my head down and kiss her supple lips. Our kiss starts sweet but quickly becomes ravenous in nature. It takes everything in me to pull away from her.
“You should change into something comfortable. I’ll go grab a movie from the living room.”
She nods and I leave her to find something for us to watch. When I come back, she takes my breath away. Lying on the bed in just a T-shirt that goes to her mid-thighs and her cute neon green socks, she looks up at me with a nervous glint in her eyes. True to her nature, she bumps at her bottom lip with her knuckle.
I grin at her. “Since when are you nervous around me?”
Her hand falls away and she smiles back. “Is this okay?”
“You, half-naked on my bed? More than okay. Trust me.”
I put the movie in the DVD player and turn on the television. Once I get it started, I shut off the lights. I whip off my hoodie and shirt before stretching out beside her. She curls around my side and her palm splays across my chest.
“You have tattoos,” she breathes, her voice breathy and in awe.
I chuckle. “I like art.”
“I like art too. I want one but…”
“Your mom won’t let you.”
Her brows furrow together as she looks up at me. “Do you think I’m pathetic? Letting my mom control me?”
I let out a heavy sigh. “You’re talking to the guy who puts up with his dad’s mean-ass shit, so he’ll give him a roof over his head, and pay for another semester of school. If you’re pathetic, then I’m pathetic.”
“We’re not pathetic,” she says primly. “We’re tough to put up with their shit. Survivors. They like to control us and keep our heads pushed under the water, but we keep popping up for air.”
Survivors.
I’ve always thought of myself as a thorn in my dad’s side. The horrible reminder of a life gone bad. Down, down, down he’s pushed me. And I let him. I believed it. Yet, all this time, I kept popping back up. Struggling and striving for better. Looking for happiness. Always trying harder.
Like a survivor.
“You’re good for me, Sage.” I run my fingers through her hair. “You’re so good for me.”
Her eyes flutter closed when I lean forward to kiss her. A small moan escapes her and I devour it. My hand slides down her ribs over her shirt, over her hip, and then settles on her bare thigh. I squeeze her flesh just under her ass.